Orison
by jelenamichel
Summary: God forgive them, they have been so very good for all this time but they can no longer show restraint. The time has come to give in to temptation. A T/Z story with very adult themes. Heed the warnings in author notes.


**A/N: NSFW. Seriously. It's explicit. And NSF school or public transport. Or for anyone under 18. Sorry kids, but I'll thank you to sit this one out.  
A polite warning for those who aren't comfortable with the Lord's name being taken in vain. That's kind of a theme to what follows.  
As I always do when I write something like this, I send an apology out to the universe. Please don't judge me too harshly.  
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

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To touch him now would be inappropriate.

He has fallen asleep on her couch in the dying minutes of a Tuesday night, finally succumbing to the stresses that a nine-day case put on his body and mind. He has done this a dozen times before, and she doesn't mind the intrusion. His feet are welcome on her coffee table, his head is welcome on the back of her couch, his hand is welcome nestled against her thigh. His entire body, in fact, is welcome to share her queen-sized bed waiting just 10 paces from where he now rests, but she doesn't dare wake him to tell him. She is enjoying the external signs of his private dreams too much to risk waking him and ending the show.

She isn't sure how long he's been asleep. Less than half an hour, because that was when he asked her to switch the TV to the movie channel. But longer than five minutes, because that was when she heard his first sigh. At first she thought he was going to comment on the black and white movie; perhaps offer a piece of information about it he thought it vital that she know. But when no further commentary was forthcoming she turned her head to look at him and found his eyes closed, his mouth partly opened and relaxed in sleep, and his face close enough to hers to make her warm from head to toe.

At first she had simply smiled and allowed herself to just look at him for a few seconds. Affection had been the overriding feeling within her, and she'd thought about getting up to find him a blanket and a pillow. But then he had sighed again and her thoughts had taken a turn. Because that sigh had been the sigh of a man enjoying his dream, and one that she would very much like to hear from him on a regular basis. It was the kind of sigh coaxed out by a lover's touch instead of a friend's dumb joke. A sigh that she wanted to become very intimate with.

Then the sighs turned into something more like moans or groans, and she felt the first tingles fire low in her belly. She'd watched his brow furrow and his lips move, and for a moment she'd considered that his dreams were torturing rather than pleasuring him. God knows he has enough demons to contend with when his defenses are down. But then a sharp, deep breath is followed by another moan that cannot be mistaken for anything but pleasure, and the tingles in her belly fire again.

Good lord, he's having a sex dream eight inches from her face.

His hand twitches against her thigh and her eyes drop to watch. His hand is curled in a loose fist, and his middle and index fingers twitch together once, twice, three times. Her head fills with all manner of things he could be dreaming about. Beckoning a lover closer. Stroking a jaw or breast or thigh. Slipping between wet folds in search of the spot that will make his dream partner moan just like him. The thought makes her clench around phantom fingers and the tingle in her belly travels at lighting speed between her legs.

Dear God, please let him be dreaming about her.

Her eyes skim from his hand over his thigh to his cock, and her breath catches when she sees proof of her sex dream assumption. A telltale bulge is forming beneath a layer of denim, and oh God, how she desperately wants to help it along. But this is her quandary. Reaching over right now to gently scrape her nails across the fabric covering him before flexing her fingers against his length might satisfy the desire growing within her like wildfire, but it would be unmistakably inappropriate. To flip the situation, if he reached over to stroke a sleeping female colleague's breast there would be no doubt he would be fired and charged with sexual assault. She can't just grab him because she feels like it, or thinks there is an 80 per cent chance he will love it instead of telling her to stop. And it doesn't matter that she has felt him thick, heavy and hard against her ass before while he slept, or felt him rock between her thighs while they both displayed a little too much enthusiasm for an undercover mission. The fact is that he is asleep, and she cannot in good conscience make a move.

Goddamn it, sometimes she hates having a conscience.

She drags her eyes upwards from the temptation below his belt to once again settle on his face. More specifically, his mouth. The urge to lean over and brush her lips feather light against his is almost as strong as the urge to bow her head and seal her lips around the head of his cock. His fuller lower lip looks a little dry, and she would love to lick some moisture back onto it. As he lets out another moan, she would love to press her mouth to his and feel the reverberation against her lips. She would love to taste him and make his big hand fist in her hair as she touches her tongue to his. She would love nothing more than to lick her way down his neck and then suck at the skin at the base of his throat until the taste of him covers her tongue.

Oh God, how she wants to do that. And yet she doesn't dare.

For a moment she mirrors his position—eyes closed, brow furrowed and sighing—as she indulges her sexual frustration. It's not fair that he can sit there just inches from her, kissable and suckable and having dreams that draw honest to God moans from lips she wants to bite, and she can only bear witness without participation. She considers kissing him awake before begging him to let her suck his cock, but she worries that he will become flustered and reject her offer, or else accuse her of being an impostor. Of course she could counter that claim by stripping off her shirt to display her identifying mark—the small tattoo that sits on her ribs under the curve of her left breast. He has seen it once or twice before. Touched it. Commented on the incongruence between the personality she offers the world and the small red heart no larger than the nail on her pinky finger. If she showed it to him again now, would he press his lips to it?

Oh God, she desperately wants to know.

She should have expected this desire to fill her now. The case tired her out and her defenses are too heavy to keep up. It's late and quiet and she seeks warmth and comfort before bed. And God, she has found herself in similar predicaments in his company too many times to count. One day she might learn to avoid his enticing company when she is tired, but that day is not today. In fact today, she moves her head just a little bit closer. He doesn't stir. She thinks she might be disappointed, but common sense tells her she should be relieved. Because if he opens his eyes now and sees her looking at him like this…

Jesus, he would stand no chance against her tonight. Inappropriate or not, she thinks she might eat him alive.

Her eyes close again against the rule-breaking temptation, but closing her eyes and removing her sight only heightens her other senses. She realizes how hot his body feels against her arm and thigh, but concedes that could be her who is burning up. This late in the day she can smell his natural musky scent over the freshness of his aftershave. Jesus, he smells so good that her mouth starts to water. She wants to press her nose into his neck and breathe him in before licking the taste into her mouth. She wants to search his whole body for the part that tastes the best, and then suck on him for hours.

Her body flushes anew with heat and a delicious, wanting throb spreads through her pelvis. She squeezes her thighs together to apply sweet pressure where she wants it, and when Tony lets out another soft grunt she hears herself reply in kind. Her nipples tighten, and she lifts her hand to her neck, letting her arm brush against her sensitive breasts. A shudder of pleasure goes through her and she bites her lip over the softest whimper she can manage. God, she wants him so badly.

She opens her eyes again to look down at his cock. As it grows under her gaze she dances with the devil of temptation and gives time to thoughts of how he might taste and smell and sound if she bowed her head and took him into her mouth. Would she recognize his everyday voice in his cries and moans? Or would he have a different octave for pleasure that she has never heard before?

God almighty, she really wants to know.

She lifts her gaze to his face again, and her heart stops dead when she sees that his eyes are now half open and he's looking right at her. He's caught her with her hand in the cookie jar (worse, her eyes on his cock), but if he notices her indiscretion he doesn't seem to mind. Instead of admonishing her he gives her a slow and sleepy smile. She could put an end to this temptation now and avoid the trouble she is heading for if only she had her wits about her. She could smile and tease him for falling asleep and suggest he go home to bed. But she doesn't. She wants to touch him too badly, and so she stares at his mouth and doesn't say a word as she decides how to play this.

Although just seconds ago he was none the wiser to her thoughts, it seems to her that it doesn't take him long to catch on. His lips part under the weight of her eyes, and she feels her own part in kind. She draws a deep breath and the fading scent of his aftershave makes her head buzz. She feels slightly drunk for a moment, and it is this artificial Dutch courage that has her weighing up the pros and cons of leaning over and claiming his mouth. Well, mainly pros. Right now she can't see too many cons.

Would it be so bad if she just leaned over and kissed him? She doubts it. If her memory serves her—and it does, because she exercises this piece of it regularly—they are very good at kissing each other. Very, very good. If Tony has a pulse and a normal sex drive and even an inch of sexual attraction for her (tick, tick and tick again) he should be ready and willing to indulge in another kiss. Especially if she allays his hesitations and makes the first move.

Would it be so bad if she took off his shirt and kissed all over his chest? It couldn't possibly be. Not when they will both enjoy it so much, and when it will surely act as a gateway to kissing in other places that he would have to be a hard core Catholic to resist. And she knows he is not.

Would it be so bad if she opened his pants and slipped her hand—?

"Ziva?"

_Oh God._

She blinks away the fantasy and returns to the present. When she refocuses on his eyes she finds they are no longer sleepy but dark and full of something that looks to her like desire. It is clear he has the Cliffs Notes of her thoughts at a bare minimum, but if he wants to discourage them she should not be looking at her like that. His fingers should not be brushing against her thigh, and his tongue should not be darting out to wet his lips. Because all these things are making her adrenaline spike, her heart pound and her panties wet.

Tony swallows, and when he speaks again his voice is like gravel. "Ziva."

Screw it. She's too drunk on desire to care about how inappropriate this is. He is awake and capable of responding or rejecting, and her conscience will be clear. She watches a hand—it appears to be hers—lift to touch his face, and it is not until she feels the warmth of his skin on her fingertips that she truly feels as if she is present in the moment. She meets his eyes as she very, very gently brushes her fingertips along his brow, his cheekbone and along his jaw, and then rests her palm against the stubble of his cheek. Tony swallows hard but does not stop her, not even when she rests her thumb against his lips and brushes it back and forth against them, testing their softness. He draws a sharp breath and she feels the rush of air pass her thumb. She still can't quite find the nerve to go further, and while she hesitates she watches his lips part just a millimeter more, as if he is preparing to speak. But he seems as lost for words as she is, and the silence drags out for a few more heavy seconds.

He should tell her to stop. Although she is stuck in limbo she knows she is closer to making an advance than beating a retreat. His silence, his acceptance of her bold and lingering touch feels like encouragement. If he thought this was a bad idea, wouldn't he tell her 'no'? Maybe not. She thinks it is a bad idea, and yet she remains pressed against his side, her face just inches from his and her hand on his cheek. Merely thinking that this is a bad idea does not translate to 'stop'.

She bites her lip and lifts her eyes to his. He is staring at her mouth with the intensity of want that she thinks she must have been aiming at him. She clenches and throbs at the simple concept that this man who she wants so badly seems to want her just as much. In the end, that thought alone is stronger than her common sense.

Oh God, forgive her surrender.

Slowly, she slides her head along the back of the couch, closer to him, and then lifts it so that her face hovers above his. She strokes her thumb across his lips one more time—a warning to act now if he wishes to stop her—and when he throws up no barriers she finally closes the space between them and replaces her thumb with her mouth.

The first touch is electric, and her head swims with sensation. He is warm and soft and all too willing, and she might be embarrassed by her whimper if not for his answering moan. Now that she is touching him she knows she cannot stop. She does not pull back after a chaste first kiss to gauge his reaction, but instead deepens the kiss as if she is trying to claim him. He doesn't fight her advance. Indeed, the hand that suddenly drives through her hair is meant to keep her close instead of push her away. She presses her sensitized chest against his arm and licks at his lips—a slow build up to this kiss would have been preferable, but she simply does not possess the patience in this moment. She wants to take as much of him as possible before one of them comes to their senses and stops this. She is relying on him to be the sensible one, but he feels as deeply into this as she is and she must consider that sanity has left the room.

She flicks her tongue against his mouth once more and this time his lips part at her request. His tongue finds hers in the next instant, and oh God yes, she remembers this now. Once upon a time a kiss between two new partners exploded with passion neither of them had fully expected. She is met with the same sudden explosion of intensity now as seduction immediately turns into devastation, and they begin to devour each other with all the pent up desire, lust and all-encompassing need for each other that has been smoldering for six years. Soft lips become hard and demanding, moans become growls and fingers dig into skin.

Jesus, they will both be bruised tomorrow.

She shudders as sensation pools between her legs and tingles of pleasure race from the tips of her toes, up her legs and spine to the top of her head. As he sucks on her lip in that way that made her crazy six years ago—how could she have forgotten that?—she twists her body more towards him and stretches her knee over his thighs. His hand finds her face to hold her where he wants her, as if she would suddenly run away, but she thinks there is no way this is ending until they're both exhausted. God forgive them, they have been so very good for all this time but they can no longer show restraint. The time has come to give in to temptation.

When her lungs begin to burn with lack of oxygen she decides it's time to start sampling the rest of his body. The end-of-the-day stubble on his cheeks is rough under her lips as she kisses across his face to his jaw line. His breaths in her ear are loud and deep and the rapid rise and fall of his chest is strong enough to rock her against him. One of his hands—good Lord, how she loves his hands—remains on her face, cupping her cheek with affection rather than direction as she sucks gently on his flesh, and his other draws a line of fire down her spine before he dips his fingers under the waist of her pants and grips her hip.

"What are you doing?" he questions breathlessly.

Under normal circumstances she would bristle at the finger of blame being turned upon her. Yes, she started this. But he has been nothing if not encouraging of her actions this evening, to the point where she believes that he is as responsible as she. Like the good partners they are, they're in this together. One is as responsible as the other. But explaining this right now will probably kill the mood, and so instead she just fills him in on what was on her mind to begin with.

Her lips brush against his ear, and she notes his shiver and sudden intake of breath. "I just want to know what you taste like," she explains, and then turns her mouth to his neck to continue her search for his flavor.

Tony drops his head back against the couch and murmurs an expletive that sounds to her ears like complete surrender. One large and heavy hand slides up the outside of her thigh and around to her butt, and he gives her a gentle squeeze before pulling her towards the center of his lap. She takes the direction and swings herself completely on top of him to straddle his legs and sit on his thighs, but she doesn't give up her exploration of his neck. She has a mission to complete, and Ziva has never given up on a mission before she was satisfied with the result.

She continues to lick and suck at the salt of his skin, working her way down to the collar of his shirt. Her fingers start to work on his buttons, but they are small and uncooperative. She lets out a growl of frustration as she reluctantly removes her lips from his throat and pulls away from him to focus on her fingers on his shirt, and she is vaguely aware of his hands running up and down her thighs as she works. Only when she wrenches his shirttails out of his pants and frees the last button does she realize that his thumbs are drawing lines on her inner thighs and getting very close to their presumed goal. She meets his eyes as she spreads open his shirt, and she barely recognizes the man looking back at her. Gone are the eyes full of humor and affectionate familiarity. In their place are eyes of _I am going to devour you_. Gone are the soft lips quick to smile. In their place are two lines of tensed red flesh at the ready to make good on the promise of his eyes. It seems surreal that he is aiming this look of crushing, almost menacing desire at her, but her body demands that her mind suspends its disbelief until after the firestorm has passed.

She finds a drop of attitude within her and uses all of it to lift an eyebrow at him. "You look like you want to eat me," she tells him. She has never heard her own voice so small and husky.

The smile that very slowly stretches one side of his mouth informs her that she is now in the absolute best kind of trouble. "Oh, yeah," he replies with a single bob of his head, and it's then that she realizes that what he means by 'eat' differs from her metaphorical intent. And Jesus, she could not be happier.

He waits until she lets out a small moan at the thought before he grabs her hips in his hands and drags her closer so that she is sitting right over his cock. He claims her mouth again and she can't help but roll her hips forward to press herself against him. The hardness of him between her legs makes her shudder, and her hips buck again of their own accord. She feels herself flood as sweet sensation shoots through her, and the rumble of his growl through his chest and into hers makes her skin erupt in gooseflesh.

"Oh, my God," she tries to whimper into his mouth, but her words are muffled. She has no hope of deciphering his response.

She is loathe to leave her position pressed heavily against his cock, but the sooner she does, the sooner she will get to draw it into her mouth. She gives him a final, firm kiss before bracing her hands on his shoulders and holding on as she slides off his lap and gets to her feet. Her legs feel like jelly, but she has enough strength to slip one foot between his ankles and kick them apart as if she is getting ready to frisk him. He follows her order and lets his legs fall open, and she kneels between them. There is no shyness within her and she does not try to hide from him as her eyes settle on the bulge in his jeans again. She notes with no small amount of pleasure that it is considerably larger than when he was sleeping, and she cannot wait to feast her eyes on him when he is finally bare. But first, she has a chest to explore.

She leans her torso against his and stretches to press her face to his collarbone. She takes a brief, still moment to breathe him in, and having the smell of him fill her when she is this turned on is enough to draw a soft whimper from her throat. When she realizes that the lump she feels stabbing into her sternum is his cock and not just a bunching of their clothes, a hot flood of almost painful tingles spread through the flesh swelling between her legs.

Thank God, it won't be long now.

She attaches her mouth to his clavicle and begins a lick, kiss, suck pattern as she skirts across the bone towards the base of his throat. She finds the salt of his skin to her liking, and as she sucks the taste of him onto her tongue his breath catches and his hands drive into her hair to hold her against him. When she swirls her tongue into the hollow of his throat he breathes out in a moan, and his hands curls into fists around her hair. It is clear that he enjoys playing human tasting plate, and so she is taken by complete surprise when he suddenly laughs and jerks away from her. She pulls back sharply to look at him with wide eyes, but while she is busy questioning her borderline insane choice to drape herself over his naked chest and explore him with her mouth, Tony appears immediately contrite and attempts to reign in his smile. He fails spectacularly, but shakes his head firmly as his hands on her neck and shoulder prevent her from moving too far away from him.

"Don't stop. Just ticklish."

She tries to swallow down the doubt that has crept into her head and licks her lips nervously. God, maybe this really isn't the best idea she's ever had…

He seems to sense her thoughts, because in the next moment he sits up from his semi-reclined position to chase her as she retreats and pull her back to him. One large hand settles on her cheek as he draws her face to his, and God knows she has always been a sucker for those hands.

"Come back," he implores, his lips brushing against hers. "Don't stop. Not now." He stretches his neck to kiss her once more, and although they are getting the hang of this now the intensity does not die down. It is hard not to lose herself in the frenzy of greed for each other, and she finds herself stuck in some dreamy state of intense pleasure and hot desire when his hands travel down her back and reach for the hem of her t-shirt. She is vaguely aware when his fingers stroke the skin of her back, but it is only when he breaks the kiss to pull the t-shirt over her head that she realizes how eager he is to move things along. And thank God, because she doesn't think she needs these clothes anymore.

She pants against his cheek as his hands find her naked breasts, and the sensation is enough to drag his name from her lips. His mouth finds the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and the combination of his tongue on her oh-so sensitive skin and his hands moving around her even more sensitive breasts sends a spark of fire shooting between her legs. Instinctively she presses her hips into the side of the couch, but the pressure is all wrong and offers her no relief. She grips the tails of his open shirt in frustrated fists, but his thumb brushing her nipples is the sweetest consolation. Her eyes flutter closed and for a few moments she just lets herself indulge in the sensation. Trails of pleasure are racing up to her shoulders and neck, down her belly and thighs and around her back. She is wrapped in a cocoon of tingles that only intensifies when he kisses her mouth like he already owns it before dragging his mouth to her ear.

"God, you're so beautiful," he rasps, and although she doubts that her body type is the sort he would normally fantasize about, she appreciates the sentiment all the same.

She smiles and kisses his cheek in response, and makes the effort to drag herself out of the haze of pleasure she is in to focus on her partner again. She kisses his shoulder, then his collarbone, then his chest before dropping her mouth lower, all the way to his belly. Her preference coming in to this was to take her exploration of his torso slower, but now she is too greedy and eager to reach the prize. A nibble on the sensitive skin right above his belt makes him jump, and she lifts her eyes to smile at him. He's watching her with the ghost of a frown and intense attention, and one large hand lifts to push her curls away from her face. She is not surprised that he wants an unobstructed view. He is highly responsive to visual stimuli, and she doubts his eyes will leave her face until the moment that he comes and his eyes close against his will.

Oh, God. She hopes she is watching him in that moment.

Right now, her eyes fall to watch his cock strain against denim. She is sure it must be painful by now so she lifts her hand to rub away some of his discomfort. Or perhaps to induce some more. She drives the heel of her palm along the length of him until he groans, and she looks up to find him frowning intently at her again. She makes a note to herself: a Tony who frowns during sex is a Tony who is concentrating and enjoying it. Either that, or he is in a state of disbelief. She thinks one is as likely as the other.

The muscles in his stomach contract and he sucks in a sudden breath as her fingers move to his belt, and she counters his frown with a smile as she slides leather through the buckle. With that barrier cleared, she pops the button on his jeans, and then watches his face as she slowly draws his zipper down. His moan is one of relief and his eyes flutter for a moment as his cock finds space to grow. He is still restrained by his boxers, but she is sure that the soft blue cotton is easier on his arousal, and it will be gone in a few seconds anyway.

She pushes her palm up the length of his cock again, and as she hooks her fingertips into the waistband of his boxers Tony's hands tighten on her shoulders. When she peels the cotton back to expose his thick cock, she smiles and bites her lip. The throb between her legs intensifies in anticipation of him filling her and the skin of her back prickles as her temperature soars. She squeezes her thighs together and tilts her hips to try to rub her clit against the seam of her jeans, and the fire that shoots down her legs and curls through her abdomen makes her groan. She knows she is going to enjoy this.

A quick glance at his face tells her she has his complete attention before she runs her fingertips lightly up and down his length. He sucks in another breath and his hips twitch as she explores and gets a sense of his size, and then she can't wait any longer. She bows her head and rubs her cheek against the velvet skin of his shaft before reaching out for it with her tongue. He gasps, thrusts, fists her hair, and it makes her greedy. She licks her way up his length, circles his head and then drags the tip of her tongue down again, and the sighing moan he lets out is so much softer than she expected, but no less intense. She wants to hear it again so she repeats the action, and when she reaches the head to lifts her eyes to his. His forehead is creased, his eyes are dark and his mouth is slack. She thinks she likes him this way. She lays the rough of her tongue against his sensitive head, drawing another soft, intimate sigh out of him, and then seals her lips around his shaft and starts sliding down. It is she who moans when his head bumps the roof of her mouth, but he is the one who cries out when he makes it to her throat. The salt of his pre-come on her tongue turns the damp between her thighs soaking wet, and she begins to swell and throb painfully.

Oh God, he tastes so good. She wants more.

The musky smell of him fills her head as she draws back again to lick and kiss around his shaft. She fastens her lips around his head and circles it with her tongue, and as he starts to moan and sigh and twitch she works her way down again. One of his hands tightens in her hair and the other starts stroking the back of her neck and between her shoulder blades. The touch is not forceful or directional, but there is an intensity to it that thrills her and steals some of her control. Her mouth moves faster on his cock and she takes him deeper, sucks him harder. She groans around him and reaches for his balls inside his boxers, and he jolts and thrusts into her mouth. She spends long indulgent minutes memorizing his flavor and the texture of his skin, drawing out his cries and sighs until her name battles God's for space on his lips.

"Oh, God! Ziva, you've got to stop."

His voice is ragged and it dials up her desire even more, but she heeds his warning and draws her head upwards until his cock falls out from between her lips. When she looks up at him she smiles at the flush over his neck and cheekbones and the haze of lust in his eyes. She loves that she has done this to him. But she is not done yet.

Tony springs forward to crush his lips against hers. His tongue in her mouth is demanding and his hands run all over her naked back, shoulders and breasts. She feels consumed by him and, God, she is so turned on right now that it's all she can do not to put her hand down her pants and finish herself off on her own. She breaks the kiss and his hands help to pull her up as she gets to her feet. Before she has the chance to do it herself, his fingers move to the buttons of her jeans and he yanks them open without warning. She braces her hands on his shoulders as he pulls her jeans and panties down in one go and she kicks them away from her feet. He reaches around to grab her ass in his hands and starts kissing her stomach, her hips, the crease of her thighs. He pauses with that delicious mouth of his just inches from her heat and looks up to her eyes.

"You want to keep going, right?"

Restraint left the room before he even woke up. She can think of no reason to call it back now. So her response is to plant her hand on the back of his head and pull him up until his mouth is at her breast. The two of them have always been good at sharing non-verbal cues and now is no exception. She watches her nipple disappear between his lips, and then her eyes close in pleasure and she has to grip his hair for balance as her thighs grow weak. The rough of his tongue on her sensitive skin has her seeing stars, and his hand running up and down her hip and thigh makes gooseflesh rise all over her body. She thinks it won't be long until she dissolves into a puddle on his tongue.

His lips move a few inches south and then she feels a gentle nip beneath the curve of her breast. He smirks up at her.

"Girly tattoo," he accuses.

She'd fight him, but they already had this argument six years ago. "Shut up," she breathes, but there is an indulgent smile on her lips.

His hand moves between her legs to grip her inner thigh and push it away from its twin. She parts her legs as helpfully suggested, and although she could smell her desire before the scent gets so much stronger. She feels her wetness coating her lips and the tops of her inner thighs, and God, there is no doubt that if her pulled her down to his lap and slammed inside of her right now her body would offer no resistance. But he doesn't. Instead, a sigh of pure relief falls from her lips as his fingers slide up her thigh, slip between her swollen lips and then press inside her. Oh God, yes, she needs this touch. She needs to feel him there, but just enough to feed her desire without giving her a complete meal. That will come soon enough. She lets out a strangled cry as she bucks her hips and grinds into his hand, and then opens her eyes to look down at him. His eyes are on her face while his fingers dive and stroke and flex, and when he sees her looking at him her pulls his mouth from her breast to offer her a wolfish smile.

"God, you smell so good," he growls.

Intense pleasure shoots through her and makes her thighs shake, but she plays it cool and lifts her eyebrows in invitation for him to get even better acquainted with her. When he scoots to the edge of the couch and then drops to his knees on the floor between her legs, she decides he is taking her up on the offer. He kisses her thigh once, twice, three times, and the stubble on his cheeks that scrapes the inside of her thighs draws a shudder of anticipation from her. In the next second he is kissing her lips softly as if introducing himself, before his tongue joins in and he starts licking and sucking at her flesh as his fingers rub inside her. She gasps and bucks her hips at the touch, and then lets out a shaky moan as her awareness of the world shrinks to the intense sensation between her legs. All she knows is his fingers and tongue and lips. All she feels of herself is burning heat, wetness and the sharp, sweet throbbing of her clit.

"Oh, God! Please don't stop doing that!"

She thinks she feels him laugh but his tongue doesn't stop moving so she has no reason to yell. Her fingers tighten in his hair as he presses another finger inside her and lashes his tongue against her clit, and as she clenches around him she feels the tension in her start to build to release. She pants his name and tilts her hips just a fraction, and the next time he sucks on her clit she screams to the ceiling as sweet, burning release races through every vein in her body. Her heart pounds so hard she thinks it will explode and when she can finally draw a gasping breath it makes her lightheaded. Her thighs finally give up, and as she continues to ride the orgasmic wave she realizes she is falling towards the floor. She lands on her partner's thighs and his arms pull her chest to his, and she finds his shoulder the perfect place to rest her head as she shakes and sweats and recovers from pure bliss.

Oh. God.

Tony's hands are firm and greedy on her shoulders, back and ass and his mouth claims her neck as he waits for her to recover. She thinks she could actually fall asleep now but knows that neither of them would ever forgive her for the indiscretion. And when she thinks of the thick cock that is just inches from her and desperate to be closer it sends a spark through her that propels her hands into action. Without lifting her head she pulls his shirt off his shoulders, and his hands leave her back for a few seconds as he fights to pull his arms free from what used to be crisp white cotton. She makes an attempt to pull at his jeans but her hands get distracted by his cock and she starts pumping his shaft. He's harder than he was when he was in her mouth.

"No, no," he says with a groan, and pushes her hands away.

She lifts her head to kiss him brutally, and he keeps up as best he can while simultaneously fighting her weight to push her back and shove down his jeans and boxers. Her hand slips from his shoulder, sending her tumbling back to the carpet. And although she moans with frustration it gives him the space to quickly stand, disrobe, and then drop to his knees again. She lies back too fast and smacks her elbow against the coffee table, and although pain explodes through her arm she finds post-orgasmic endorphins an adequate pain reliever. Tony shoves the table back another foot and then lies on top of her. His weight presses her into the floor and his naked skin on hers from shoulder to toe makes her shudder and roll her hips against him. She wants him to be closer. And soon.

"Come here," she breathes, even as his hand pushes her thigh further out of the way so he can get closer.

He positions himself, flashes her a smile and then bows his head to kiss her before he pushes his hips forward. The sensation of the wide tip of his cock sinking into her makes her back arch and lips part with a cry of bliss. He sighs her name with all the relief she feels—God, _yes!_—and reaches for her hand. She grips his fingers tightly as her body adjusts to the welcome intrusion. It feels surreal that he is finally there, hot and hard and buried so deep, and her eyes fix on his face with wonder. His wide-eyed expression suggests to her that he is having the same thought. It seems that the moment should be taken away by the powers that be, and the irrational fear that he will suddenly disappear drives her to tighten her thighs around his hips and buck her pelvis towards him to urge him to move. He starts slowly, sliding his full length in and out of her and she clamps down and creates friction so sweet that it brings tears to her eyes. But soon the intimate pace isn't enough and they start to move faster and harder against each other. Their kisses get rougher and lose their finesse, their moans get louder and her nails start to dig into the skin of his shoulder and lower back as she tries to pull him even closer. Jesus, she wants more. More more more more more.

His hand slides beneath her ass, lifting her higher to meet his thrusts. She cries out an affirmation as he drives into her harder and rocks her hips to meet him. They're frantic now, moving with the pent up tension that's been there for years, panting and sweating and grabbing at each other like they'll never let go. Her body buzzes with sensation and the blood rushing through her ears is almost deafening, and, God, the smell of him and her and _them_ makes her dizzy. It's too good. She needs to come again. Whether she says it aloud or if he just _knows_ it, she isn't sure. But Tony reaches between then to press his thumb into her clit and leans down to suck on the sensitive skin below her ear, and right away she feels the next orgasm build. This is a bigger one than before, one that comes from deep, deep inside her. She feels the tension spiraling out from her core, reaching her head and all the way down to her toes. She squeezes herself around him as hard as she can, making him shout and grind into her with everything he has, and then the volcano within her goes off and molten lava envelops every nerve. She screams into his shoulder and shudders with ecstasy as she falls apart. He doesn't stop moving, but slams into her a few more times until he cries out her name against her cheek, spills into her, and then sags.

_Bliss._

Slowly, her muscles relax, and she is happy to lie there beneath him and let endorphins pump through her body with every beat of her heart. Tony nuzzles her neck and then kisses her jaw, her cheek, her lips. Her eyes open slowly to look up at him, and his messy hair, heavy-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks brings a smile to her face. He smiles back, and then slips out of her as he chuckles.

"That was unexpected."

She dissolves into laughter at the understatement.

"You're so damn impatient, Ziva," he says with a smile, and bows his head to kiss her again.

She's not sure she approves of his plan to make him the saint and her the sinner, but she will let it go without a fight tonight. She is the one who moved on him, after all.

"You're welcome," she replies pointedly.

He gives her another kiss and then rolls off her, but tugs her arm to pull her to his side. She turns and stretches her arm over his chest and closes her eyes. She supposes they should move to the comfort of her bed, but her legs still feel weak and he seems content to lie on the floor for a little while longer anyway.

"I want to do this again," he tells her. "Regularly, I mean."

She smiles into his shoulder. It is no less silly an idea than it was half an hour ago, but now that they've taken this step it doesn't seem as impossible. And thank God, because she doesn't think that she could have a single taste of this rapture and then give it up cold turkey for the rest of her life.

"Yes," she says.

Because touching him now doesn't seem that inappropriate.

* * *

**Make a note: Backups of all my stories are on my blog in case anything happens to them on FF – jelenamichelfanfic dot blogspot dot com.**


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